


Mistletoe & Wine

by aliciutza



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Christmas Smut, F/M, Fluffmas, I did not know this was a tag but here's another one for you, Idiots in Love, Jon Snow has a Big Dick, Jon Snow has a Nice Butt, Jonerys Advent 2020, Minor Praise Kink, Mutual Pining, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Unresolved Sexual Tension, implied pandemic setting, it's for plot reasons, scarves used as flirting devices is my move, smutmas, that is a tag now yes, until it gets resolved I mean lmao you know me by now
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-07
Updated: 2020-12-07
Packaged: 2021-03-09 19:40:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,205
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27941654
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aliciutza/pseuds/aliciutza
Summary: This is all in her head.It has to be, right?Dei and Davos can't be right. Jon would have made a move by now if he was interested. The fact that it's been months since he broke up with his girlfriend and he hasn't done anything to show her that he finds her attractive, only proves her point:Jon Snow is definitely not interested in Daenerys Targaryen. She should order a neon sign and hang it above her head, maybe then she’ll get over him. It's for the best. At least they're friends; she'd rather have him in her life as a friend than not at all....or that one time Dany invites her colleague and work bff, Jon Snow, to spend Christmas with her. No matter how hard Missandei tries to convince her that this isactuallya date, it is not. Got it? Good. But why does he have to be this hot and stare at her likethat?Written forDay 7 of the Jonerys Advent Calendar 2020 event on tumblr.
Relationships: Jon Snow/Daenerys Targaryen
Comments: 94
Kudos: 325





	Mistletoe & Wine

**Author's Note:**

> Surprise! So this is a...very unplanned fic. Mind you, this was supposed to be a drabble. I'm told I shouldn't apologise for it, so I'm not! The entire idea of this is ridiculous, and I am very aware of that. I know that the holidays are especially difficult this year, and I hope this can distract you at least a bit from all the craziness. 
> 
> Big thank you to loml [atetheredmind](https://archiveofourown.org/users/atetheredmind/pseuds/atetheredmind) for her beta work ❤. 
> 
> Also a shout out to [JW](https://archiveofourown.org/users/justwanderingneverlost/pseuds/justwanderingneverlost) for the Dany edit she made me for this moodboard (because I really needed Dany with a ponytail), and to all the other fabulous writers who sprinted with me and supported me even when this 'drabble' surpassed 5K 😂.
> 
> I know I promised Angstmas (with a HEA, it really goes without saying), and that's still coming. But I have to stay true to my name: when a plot bunny manifests itself, down the rabbit hole I go.

“So let me see if I got this right,” Missandei’s voice carries through the open space that serves as both living room and kitchen, as Dany checks for probably the fifth time whether she measured the cookie ingredients correctly. She should have never attempted baking, as it was not her forte. But this year everything was different. 

Usually, they would be cooking Christmas dinner together, over a bottle of Dornish red and spending quality time with their friends and family on Dragonstone. But this year’s Christmas doesn’t permit travel, not even from King’s Landing to Dragonstone, hence why they’ve been on a video call for the past three hours, trying to make the most out of a bad situation. Dei even made sure they both bought the same brand of wine, so it feels like they’re actually _sharing_ the bottle (joke’s on her, because Dany has already passed the halfway mark an hour ago, _ha!_ ). 

Her friend pauses, so Dany turns to grab her phone and prop it against a pot on the kitchen island, where she is preparing the cookie dough. “Mhm,” Dany prompts. 

“Your colleague is about to arrive any moment now—”

“Yes,” she nods, avoiding looking her best friend in the eye.

“—to help you cook _and_ spend Christmas with you. In your flat. Your very _hot_ and extremely gorgeous coworker. Who is currently single and available."

“Yep.” 

“Is gonna spend two days with you. _Just_ you. Alone. In your flat.” Dei's voice seems to be pitching higher with every obvious statement she makes. 

Dany doesn’t have to look at the phone screen to know that her friend’s perfect right eyebrow is arched so high it’s disappeared behind her fringe. Instead, she focuses on mixing the dry ingredients together. 

“How is this not a date?” Dei blurts, exasperated, making Dany jump a bit, hands clutching the big plastic bowl to her chest.

“Dei, it’s not like that, I told you. There’s nothing going on between us,” Dany explains for what must be the hundredth time since Missandei found out that she was spending Christmas with Jon.

Her friend waits for her to look at the screen before she rolls her eyes not once, but twice.

“Like I said before, the fact that he broke up with his girlfriend a few months ago changes nothing,” Dany adds, slightly exasperated that she needs to justify herself. When they realised that travelling wouldn’t be possible for the holidays, inviting Jon over to spend Christmas together seemed like the obvious solution. It’s as simple as that. 

“Whoa! Back up, they broke up _months_ ago? I thought this was recent news!” Her already huge eyes double in size. “Honestly Dany, sometimes you break my heart with how bad you are at gossip,” Dei touches her left hand (her new and _very_ shiny engagement ring glinting in the fairy lights she knows are hanging from under the kitchen cabinets) to her heart, dramatically feigning hurt. 

It’s now Dany’s turn to roll her eyes. They have long surpassed the eye roll quota during this call. “Jon told me that in confidence, plus you never asked.”

“Pffft, _please_ , I know what's happening here. You obviously waited until today to share your Christmas plans with me, and even then I had to basically force it out of you _after_ you let it accidentally slip that you were cooking for two.” Dei glares at her. “You forget I know all your tricks, Targaryen. After all, you learned them all from me.”

Dany heaves an exasperated sigh as she dumps the softened butter into the large mixing bowl, repeatedly stabbing it with a silicone spatula.

“And I promise I’m not mad,” Dei jumps to explain. “I just wish you’d make a bloody move before the end of the year—or the world, whichever comes first.” She finishes her glass of wine then adds, “Honestly, you ran out of excuses to do so _months_ ago—apparently.”

“Why, Dei? So he can reject me in my own home and then we have a very awkward dinner? Or worse, run out of here screaming? No thank you,” Dany huffs and dumps the sugar into the bowl, now that she’s done taking out her frustration on the butter. 

“Look, I’m not saying marry the guy—”

Dany groans loudly.

“—but I _am_ saying that you should put yourself out there. So let's compromise: you can jump him _after_ dinner. This way, if he rejects you—and that’s a big if, Dany. No, don’t even dare roll your eyes at me again!” She laughs. “The worst that can happen is he just leaves, but you at least get to have a nice Christmas dinner and play house for a few hours. If Mr Snow turns out to be a huge git, you’ll call me and we’ll trash talk him the entire night. I might even send him some nasty DMs on Instagram if I drink enough wine.” Dei’s voice is full of mirth but her eyes tell a different story. She knows her friend will always have her back, no matter what.

For a moment, all the levity of the situation dissipates and Dany finally voices her fear. “I think we lost our shot, Dei. Timing is a funny thing...I’m afraid that if I try anything, we’ll never be able to go back to just being friends. Hells, we might not even be able to be colleagues.” She digs into a drawer until she finds the whisk attachment for the mixer. “Plus I don’t think I could take his rejection,” she barks out a mirthless laugh.

So what if she’s finally wearing that festive bra and panties set she bought last Christmas and never got to use under her red wool dress? Not like Jon has laser vision to see underneath her clothes. If she wants to wear sexy lingerie to feel empowered she will, godsdammit! 

Before Missandei can reply, the intercom buzzes. 

“That must be him, I better go. We’ll catch up after dinner, we're still doing our presents on call, right?” Dany wipes her hands on her white apron and picks up the phone as she makes her way to the door. 

“Look, all jokes aside, you don’t have to do anything you’re uncomfortable with. However, you should know, I have a good feeling about this,” her friend tries to reassure her. 

“Ha, you and your vibes, Dei. Ok, I really have to go now, love you! Happy Christmas!” 

“Happy Christmas, love! Enjoy your _non_ - _date_!” she ends the call but not before making an exasperated face.

Dany buzzes Jon in, taking advantage of the few seconds it takes getting from the main entrance to her flat to give herself a once-over in the mirror. She pulls up her white wool thigh high socks—even if they have stayed in place since she put them on hours ago—and fixes her ponytail yet again, even if it hasn't budged since this morning. She has enough time to take a deep calming breath before Jon is softly knocking on her door. 

“Hey,” she greets once she opens the door, motioning for him to come inside. But Jon doesn't move; instead, he freezes up, gloved hand halfway in the air, as if he is about to knock again but decided against it at the last moment. He keeps staring at her, with an expression she can't quite decipher; she tells herself she should grab him by his hand and pull him inside, maybe shove him against the door and check whether he’s as good of a kisser as her dreams make him out to be. But she can’t, she feels just as frozen as he seems. _Fuck_. How has she never noticed he looks absolutely dreamy with snowflakes in his raven curls. It’s poetic how snow seems to become him. And now she’s lost it, not even five minutes into this date. _Dammit it’s not a date!_ Oh, and she totally forgot that she's unable to act normal around him. What should she even do with her hands?

Jon at least has more than one functioning brain cell. By some miracle, his hand finally drops by his side. “Hey,” his smile is so intoxicating, she feels the corners of her own mouth pull her lips wider.

Now that she’s able to look somewhere other than in his stormy eyes, she notices the numerous plastic and paper bags littering the floor. “Did you bring your entire flat over?”

“I can explain at least half of this stuff,” he touches the back of his head with his free (and still) gloved hand. Dany wonders why she suddenly has the urge to feel his gloved hands on her body. Would the leather be cold yet soft? Would it cause her skin to erupt in goose bumps and her nipples to harden? Jon interrupts her daydreaming. “Since you’re already providing most of the food, I brought a tree—” he motions behind him. “Which is still in the car. These—” he points to three big boxes “—are tree ornaments. Oh, and I have my night bag and lastly, that's a booze bag, of course,” he smirks.

Dany can’t suppress her laugh. “I’d say I’m surprised by how meticulous and thorough you are, but that would be a lie.”

“I take my duties very seriously, ma'am,” he puts on his worst impression of a Crownlands accent, gives her a mock salute and a lopsided grin that makes her heart do a flip in her chest. She clutches the door knob tighter, praying to the old gods and the new that her knees did not just wobble. “Plus you can’t take the project management out of me, it’s in my blood now.”

Dany waves him off, hiding her blush as she bends to pick up one of the bags. “Sure, sure.” 

Jon drops the duffle bag with his clothes right next to the other stuff, and goes to retrieve the tree from the car while Dany brings everything else inside. 

A few minutes later, she hears the door click closed. “It smells so good in here. I have no idea what you’re cooking, but I cannot wait until we get to taste it,” Jon remarks as he takes off his wool scarf and starts unbuttoning his pea coat. The thin red jumper he has on accentuates his broad shoulders. He passes a hand through his perfect curls, the snowflakes melting at the contact. His chest flexes with the move, pulling the jumper taut against his muscles, and _damn_ , she can already imagine just how perfectly chiselled the abs underneath are. 

_Down girl, you are just friends_ , Dany tells herself. This is a Christmas dinner between _friends_. She repeats the statements with more determination. It’s just as if you were spending it with Grey. Except she never wanted to climb any of her male friends like a tree the way she wants to climb Jon in this moment. And possibly bite his neck and rub herself against him like a sex-crazed kitten. 

Alright, drinking more than half a bottle of wine was not her brightest moment. Wine always makes her horny, she should have known better! But she had to drink to keep her mouth from spilling all her (not so) secret fantasies to Dei. And then she had to blurt out that she needed to make sure she cooked enough potatoes...

“Dany?” Jon’s uncertain voice snaps her out of it. “I asked if I should take my shoes off.”

“I—yes, of course, if you don’t mind,” she starts pulling tree ornaments out of the boxes, trying to bury her horniness deep inside her mind—along with the fact that she thought of herself as a ‘sex-crazed kitten’.

“No trouble, I do the same at my place.” Jon comes back from the hallway, tree hoisted over his shoulder. “Where shall I put this?”

Dany looks around, realising only now that in the half of decade she’s lived in King’s Landing she never had a Christmas tree in the flat, since she was always home until after the New Year. “I think by the window, next to the couch.” She pushes the couch a bit, making way for Jon and the tree. He slowly drops it to the floor, untangling the tree stand from the base of the trunk.

“It's herbed roast turkey. The dinner, I mean. The side dishes are pretty basic, because you know, I didn't want to overwhelm your bland pallet with my usual tastes,” Dany teases him.

“Sure, make fun of the Northman,” his hurt is all show no bite; they always do this.

Her retort dies in her throat as his next move shows just how well that jumper fits around his wide shoulders. _Focus, Dany, go be a good host or something_ , she tells herself. “Um I should probably give you a tour,” she abandons the tree ornaments and starts leading Jon through her flat. After all, it is the first time he is inside her home, although he’s dropped her off many times after work.

So she takes him from room to room, all the while telling him about her neighbourhood, explaining trinkets and other objects around her flat. She knows she is rambling. That’s side effect number two of her too-much-wine condition. But the harder she tries to stop her word vomit, the more she speaks. About everything. 

Jon’s face doesn’t betray any annoyance—bless him. In fact, if the few glances she’s stolen his way can be trusted, he seems to be enjoying himself, a funny glint in his eyes as he keeps staring at her instead of the things she’s pointing at around the flat. Surely she’s imagining things, he can’t be staring at her. She discreetly checks her face in a mirror, scanning for any smudged makeup, but everything seems to be in place. In spite of her initial assessment, he must be paying attention because occasionally he hums in agreement and he asks a few questions here and there. She always appreciated Jon's multitasking abilities. 

They circle back to the living room. “So that's it. You can put your night bag in the guest room. I’ll fix us some drinks in the meantime.” Well, maybe none for herself. She should cut herself off while she can still form complete sentences and walk straight, because being in Jon's presence is already making everything way too difficult. The last thing she needs is more alcohol. 

“You have a lovely flat, Dany. Thanks again for hosting, I would have probably spent the entire weekend being miserable and wishing I was up North.”

“Of course, that's what friends are for, right?” 

At this, Jon’s smile falters. At least she thinks so, she can't risk getting too close to him or staring at him for too long. The urge to climb him is still too strong. 

“I bought a bottle of single malt.” Jon starts pulling bottles out of the ‘booze bag’, as he called it: two bottles of red wine, champagne, the aforementioned (quite expensive) Northern single malt whiskey and lastly, a bottle of gin.

Her mouth falls open. “Wow you were not kidding! Also you know it's just the two of us, right?” She laughs as she pops the champagne into the fridge. 

Jon looks sheepish when he says, “I was thinking that perhaps we can drink the leftovers on New Year's.”

Dany freezes with the heavy glass tumbler in her hand. 

“Unless you had other plans—which is totally fine, I should not presume. Of course you don't have to spend New Year's Day with me," he immediately adds. He's massaging the back of his neck again. For a second she wonders whether he likes to have his neck kissed. _Snap out of it. Pour drinks._

Before he can fumble over more excuses, she decides to put him out of his misery. “Jon, I'd love that.” That sounded too eager and a tad too high pitched. _Love? Really?_ She kicks herself mentally. “Er, I mean I wanted to ask you about that today. I guess we can spend it also here, seeing how I'm not going anywhere any time soon.” 

Jon beams. She might be imagining it, but his hand seems to reach out to touch her. At the last moment, he rests it on the kitchen island. 

“Thanks, Dany. Next time I can do all the cooking if you want, it only seems fair,” his eyes trap her again until he looks away.

She pours him two fingers of whiskey, then grabs a bottle of water. Jon nods. “Just a splash, thanks.” She slides the heavy tumbler to Jon and grabs her almost empty wine glass. 

“To new traditions,” he clinks his glass to hers, looking her in the eye again.

“To new traditions,” she echoes. Dany cannot stop the stupidly large smile from taking over her face. It’s a disease. She’s always grinning like that around him. 

She is vaguely aware that there might be some subtext to that toast. That, or she’s already too sloshed, in which case she should definitely not be left alone with Jon. But blaming this on the alcohol would be a cop out. Frankly, she’s tipsy, at most. If she is drunk on something, then it’s on the magnetic sexual field Jon radiates, not on the Dornish red she consumed. Her booze threshold is way higher than that. 

Jon takes his tumbler with him to the living room, saying they should decorate the tree while dinner is still cooking. As she drains what is left of her glass, she decides she can't afford to dwell on whatever that small moment might have meant. Because then it means she's going to remember what Dei said and then she's going to want to snog the life out of one unsuspecting-and-oblivious-to-her-flirting Jon Snow. She almost forgets why she can't just go for it at the moment. Oh _, right. Timing and shit._

As he's finishing unwrapping the tree, she shuffles through her phone for some Christmas music.

Her fingers hover over ‘Last Christmas’. Inadvertently, all she can think of now is that she wasn't truthful with Dei. It wasn't just timing or being afraid of rejection. Well, yes, those two were big factors. But now that her arm is no longer twisted by her friend into admitting that her stupid crush is still going—stronger than ever—she can safely say that there’s more to it than that. After all, her newfound lack of balls to pursue a guy is entirely Jon's fault. He is the one who's been sending her mixed signals. 

She can perfectly recall at least three moments she thought he was going to kiss her, the most recent one being last week when the first snow hit and caught her unprepared. He insisted on giving her his scarf because he couldn't drop her off at her place due to a prior commitment. He just wouldn't accept her walking in only her dress and flimsy coat in the snow. He actually said those words.

Was she so crazy to expect that he would kiss her when he tilted her head up with the tips of his fingers and secured around her neck the red wool scarf he wore today? The scarf she wore around her house the rest of the day. The same scarf she was so loathe to give back the next day because it smelled so much like him? 

The disappointment was inevitable when all he did was stare at her for a few agonisingly long moments, only to retreat and disappear for the rest of the day. So of course she did the only thing she could: over-analyse the moment in her head, kicking herself, regretting not daring to kiss him herself, and groan with embarrassment every time she was reminded of the missed moment. 

_Stupid Jon Snow with his stupid plump lips and stupid grey eyes!_ Why won’t he just kiss her if he likes her? Davos—their colleague over in logistics—keeps saying he likes her, and she keeps telling the old man that he's seeing things. If he liked her, he surely would have at least made a move by now. _Right?!_

Finally, she finds a Christmas playlist that's not about unrequited love or unresolved sexual tension in December or other totally inappropriate romantic and completely non festive themes. The first notes of ‘It's Beginning to Look a Lot Like Christmas’ start playing through her surround system. 

Jon starts humming along to the song as he fixes the tree onto its stand. He doesn’t look like he’s having any issue with whatever almost happened or didn’t happen between them last week. 

Ok, so maybe she _is_ salty that not only does he barely seem to be interested in her, but also that he never even tried to make a move when she all but threw herself at him. 

Dany suppresses a huff as she unravels the Christmas string lights from the box. Yes, she is a strong, independent woman in charge of her own sexuality, but being pursued also feels so... _nice_. And she is aware just exactly how beautiful she is. Except Jon never seems to have any sort of notable reaction to her usual tricks. 

Jon bends over to pick up one end of the lights string. Ugh, does his arse have to be that perfect in those jeans? And more importantly, how can he still bend in them because they look like they could cut off his circulation any moment now?

They work well together—of course she already knows that, after all there's a reason she and Jon are the dream team in the office—and they have the lights wrapped around the tree in no time. Jon is fully singing along now, in between sips of whiskey and taking out decorations out of bags. She starts hanging baubles here and there, and for a moment she is so focused on the task, she forgets she's supposed to be annoyed at Jon for being immune to her charms and not being in the least affected by her very cosy and very festive outfit, when she had to actively stop herself from climbing him like a tree.

Dany takes a step back to admire her masterpiece. 

“I think that side needs more ornaments,” Jon hums as he hands her another red bauble. His fingers brush against hers as he places the fragile sphere in her palm. His touch lingers; she has to fight against closing her eyes and giving into the electricity the simple gesture ignites in her. Her brain finally snaps the rest of her body into action as she runs to hang the ornament in a random sport on the tree.

She can't look at Jon, lest she jumps into his arms—the irresistible need to rub herself all over his body is back in full force. “You finish here, I just remembered I forgot to mix the cookie dough!” She announces louder than necessary and bolts to the kitchen area. 

Mercifully, Jon doesn't follow her. She only chances a look at him once she safely puts the kitchen island between them. She sighs as she stares at him hanging the silver tinsel on the tree. 

This is all in her head. _It has to be, right?_ Dei and Davos can't be right. Jon would have made a move by now if he was interested. The fact that it's been months since he broke up with his girlfriend and he hasn't done anything to show her that he finds her attractive, only proves her point: _Jon Snow is definitely not interested in Daenerys Targaryen_. She should order a neon sign and hang it above her head, maybe then she’ll get over him. It's for the best. At least they're friends; she'd rather have him in her life as a friend than not at all. Dany turns the mixer on high, watching as the butter and sugar mix together to create a fluffy mixture. 

For the next half an hour she focuses on finishing mixing the cookie dough, wrapping it in clear film and putting it in the freezer to rest—whatever that means. She can probably bake them before dinner. Maybe Jon will be interested in frosting her cookies. She can think about another cookie that needs frosting. She doesn’t mean it like that. 

_Liar_. 

To keep her mind out of the gutter, she scrubs down the counter top, checks on the turkey and starts cutting up the veggies to roast them. Between those tasks, she gives in and refills her wine glass because there's no way in all the seven hells that she is spending the evening sober now. 

“Hey, Dany, can you come and check this for me please?” Jon's voice crumbles her single-minded focus. 

He did a wonderful job with the tree, even from all the way across the room she knows it looks picture perfect. She wipes her hands on her apron, then takes it off to put it on one of the chairs. As she looks around the living room, she spots more Christmas ornaments scattered around: there's stockings hanging over the mantelpiece above the fireplace, a beautiful wreath on the dining table and a gnome on the small coffee table. 

“Jon, this is amazing. Are you secretly a home decorator or what?” Dany doesn't know where to look first. 

If she didn't know any better she'd think Jon is blushing. “I might have gone a bit overboard. My family takes Christmas very seriously,” he chuckles. “Plus, it was the least I could do. Now it truly feels like Christmas.” He's looking at her with that dreamy look again—the one that's sending her mixed signals. 

She wants to turn tail and run again, but Jon speaks first, his expression shifting to a more serious one. “Take two steps back.”

“Sorry?” She asks, but does it anyway. 

“You have to stand in the right place for this to work,” he explains, as if she's supposed to know what he's talking about.

Before she can ask, in two long strides, Jon is in front of her, invading her personal space. She should probably take a step back, but Dany feels selfish, plus his intense woodsy cologne (the same one lingering on the scarf that she didn't want to give back) is now all around her and it's making her head spin. The image of running her fingers through Jon's hair is so vivid in her mind she has to look down at her hands to check that they're still clutching the hem of her dress.

“Dany,” he whispers.

She doesn't want to look up, afraid that if she does, she'll do something foolish like throw her arms around his neck and touch her lips to his, and effectively ruin Christmas dinner.

Jon's hands gently squeeze her upper arms. “Daenerys, look up,” he whispers again, his voice husky. 

The air from her entire flat seems to have been sucked out. 

Eventually she looks up, and when she does, it takes her a few seconds to identify the mysterious bunch of green leaves dangling from the light fixture. 

Mistletoe. 

“ _Oh_.” 

That's all she can say because her brain is going into overdrive, convincing itself that Jon is finally making a move—and R'hllor, does this mean he likes her?!—but also simultaneously trying to talk itself out of it, bracing for the inevitable disappointment that's tormented her all the other times they found themselves this close yet so far.

Jon's big hands are moving up to cradle her face. His fingers are calloused; he told her once he liked to play the guitar in his spare time. But his touch is warm and she doesn't even think about it, she automatically leans into it.

Dany finally looks away from the mistletoe. She does not expect the disarming look he has on his face. His breath comes out in labored puffs that fan across her face, and his eyes keep darting between her eyes and her mouth. His tongue peeks outside of his mouth licking his lower lip. She might have whimpered. She can't be sure because she can't really hear anything over the blood rushing in her ears and the beat of her own heart. Her belly tightens in anticipation. 

“I would like to _finally_ kiss you now, is that alright?” His voice comes out smooth and steady, as if he asked her whether it was snowing outside. 

She can't speak, but she nods, slowly, because she's afraid that if she moves too fast the spell will be broken and he'll never kiss her.

Jon's thumbs glide over her cheeks as he slowly angles her face up to him. At first it's soft and sweet, his plush lips brush against hers so gently it finally dawns on her that despite her (almost) explicit consent, he might also be afraid of rejection.

So when he tries to pull back, Dany takes control. Her hands fly around his neck and she brings him back down to her lips for more. He gasps, clearly surprised by her sudden boldness. Dany opens her mouth and takes his lower lip between her own. He tastes like caramel and smoke, the notes of the whiskey still fresh on his tongue. She kisses him harder, and every moan he makes aims straight for her core. 

Why did they wait so long to do this? _Oh right, because you're an idiot, Dany_ , she replies to her own question. 

They break apart, breaths labored and eyes full of desire. On the next inhale, he takes back the lead and attacks her mouth again, only this time his hands are everywhere: her arse, her neck, her hair, her lower back, her breasts. She doesn't even try to stop the loud moan that escapes her lips when his lips lower to her jaw then the column of her neck. 

His mouth leaves a trail of fire on her skin. Her brain screams _yes_ and _more_ and _finally_. Jon's chuckle makes her realise that she was in fact voicing out loud all those thoughts. Dany can't seem to feel shame. Not like she's lying. So she pushes him until the back of his knees hit the couch next to the Christmas tree he brought over.

She kisses him one more time before she shoves him on the couch. The lustful look he gives her aims straight to her cunt, bringing forward a new wave of slickness between her already puffy lips. She can’t help but squeeze her thighs together. Jon pulls her into his lap, her knees bracketing his hips, and they're kissing again, with more fervour than before. His hands settle over the her thighs, his thumbs gliding over the exposed flesh, just above her socks. She can't get enough of his lips. He is a much better kisser than she ever imagined. Soon she's grinding against him. When he pushes up against her, a groan of pleasure escapes her; just the feeling of the contour of his dick against her arse drives her mad. He grins against her lips, grabbing her arse, pulling her closer—if that's possible—and down until her cunt is sitting on his hard on. 

The wine dissolved all her inhibitions and insecurities and all she wants is to be filled by him and ride him until he can no longer speak and she can no longer walk. Then they can catch their breaths and do it all again.

Is it possible to come just from kissing? Because she feels quite close. In fact, she reckons that the minute Jon's fingers come close to her cunt she might burst. 

Dany slides her hands under his soft jumper. His abs are absolutely perfect, hard and warm, chiselled by R'hllor himself. She breaks their kiss so she can pull the jumper over his head. In the glow of the Christmas tree lights he looks like a god; black luscious hair perfectly rumpled, lips red and swollen from their kissing, pupils blown wide with desire. 

She dives into the crook of his neck, nipping and licking to soothe. He grips her upper thighs harder, his fingers pressing into her flesh so hard she knows he'll leave marks. 

“Dany, wait,” he pants. Those are not the words she wants to hear. Reluctantly, she pulls back to look at him. He doesn't move his hands.

“Maybe we should wait. I don't want you to feel obligated—” she doesn't let him finish. Dany rests the tips of her fingers to his kiss-bruised lips. It is actually sweet how Jon still manages to prove yet again how much of a genuinely good guy he is. It only makes her want him more.

“We've waited enough. Just fuck me, Jon,” she says. 

Jon makes a sound between a strangled moan and a groan. “Fuck, Dany. You can't just say things like that.”

“Why not?” She grinds her arse down against his hard cock again. His fingers inch higher, pulling up the hem of her knit dress just slightly. The look on his face is almost feral. He just needs one last push to snap.

“Tell me you want me, Jon,” she all but moans his name, as she rotates her hips, causing more friction between their bodies. 

He has to grit out his reply as his fingers dig harder into her flesh. “I want you so badly.” 

In a quick move, the dress is up and over her head, landing somewhere behind her. “Then what's stopping you?”

He stops breathing as his eyes drink in her bright red lacy ensemble. It's trimmed with white gauze, giving it a Ms Santa look—which is exactly the reason she chose it. There's no sense in pretending that a part of her didn't hope (and beg) that Jon would get to see this festive lingerie set. 

_Finally_ , Jon snaps.

He grabs handfuls of her arse, grinding up into her. He detaches his left hand to pull the cups of her bra down and roll one nipple between his thumb and index finger as he's sucking and teasing the other with his lips and teeth.

She’s so lost in the sweet torture he's inflicting upon her that all she can do is hold onto his luscious dark curls. 

"Tell me—you have—a—ah—condom," she says in between moans when Jon switches his mouth to her other breast. 

After he's done, he lets go of her nipple with an obscene pop. “Aye, thank the old gods and the new.” With his hands secured around her waist, he rises slightly to reach his wallet from the coffee table. She starts undoing his belt and fly as soon as he falls back against the couch. It takes some shuffling on his part, but they slide down his jeans and boxer briefs just enough so his hard cock finally springs free. 

Ok, she needs to taste _that_ —his cock looks absolutely glorious. She wraps her hand around the base, the tips of her fingers not quite touching, gives him a few pumps to spread the beads of precum leaking from the top. Jon’s head falls against the couch. “Fuck,” he moans. Yes, she most definitely needs to get her mouth around his cock just so she can see him come undone. Later though, now all she wants is for him to stretch her and fuck her brains out. Jon recuperates some blood flow to his big brain, and starts unwrapping the condom to slide it down his shaft. 

He uses his thumb to slide her soaked panties to the side and align himself to her entrance. He rubs the head of his cock against her seam, coating himself in her juices. Dany grips his forearms tight and rises herself to her knees. Their moans fill the room as she finally starts to sink down onto him. She is dripping wet, but he is still a tight fit. He curses as she slowly sinks lower and lower, the hand holding her panties to the side pressing against the juncture of her hip and leg. She’s gripping his shoulders now, nails digging painfully into his muscles as he’s splitting her open, stretching her further and further apart. _Sweet delicious torture._

"Good?" He searches her eyes for any signs of discomfort once he is buried to the hilt in her cunt.

"S-so—good," she moans, raking her fingers through his hair and pulling him closer in a messy kiss. It’s rapture, really. 

She needs a few moments to adjust before she can finally start moving. Dany rides him slowly, getting lost in the sensory overload. Jon murmurs words of encouragement in between kissing her mouth and her neck. How she is beautiful and her tits are perfect; that she is doing so well taking him all; moaning that he can't wait to taste her pretty cunt—that he’s been dying to taste her. When he’s not kissing her, he’s staring into her eyes as his thumb starts rubbing her clit in tandem.

The pressure in her abdomen builds and builds until it feels like she can't take it anymore. She’s whimpering, curses rolling off her mouth, her orgasm so far yet so close she can almost touch it. She might be begging, she can’t be sure of it. Jon seems to know what she needs, because the next moment he's taking over, increasing the rhythm of his thrusts all while rubbing her clit.

“Oh gods,” she can't breathe. Her lungs burn as the pressure in her cunt is building more and more. She's on the very edge of it, hands clutching again at Jon's shoulders. 

“That's it, let go, I got you. Just let go, love,” he grunts in between thrusts. 

The coil in her lower abdomen finally snaps; her cunt clamps down on him. She comes with his name on her lips and his mouth against her neck. He stops touching her clit but doesn't still his thrusting. Once she rides out the last ripples of her orgasm, her eyes focus on his. Jon adjusts her hands around his neck for better purchase and grips her waist tighter. His rhythm is so erratic and punishing, pressure starts building up again inside her throbbing cunt. If he could keep just a bit longer she'd probably come a second time in a matter of seconds. But she has all night to find in which ways he can make her come. This moment is about Jon finally letting go of his impossible restraint around her.

“Fuck, Dany,” is all he can manage as his thrusts come to a halt when he finally comes. Heaving, he rests his forehead against her chest to come down off his high. 

When he finally breathes normally, he kisses her again and again until his cock softens inside her. He lets go of her panties and brings to his mouth the thumb that expertly rubbed against her clit moments before. He sucks it clean while staring at her. His moan of pleasure causes her to whimper. 

She’s about to pin him down for round two when the alarm on her phone rings, reminding her it's time to check on the turkey and put the veggies in the oven.

“So,” they both say at the same time.

She bites her lip. “I need to check on our dinner.” Jon’s smile is a tad bashful, but he hums in agreement. 

Instead of letting go of her, he pulls her in for more kisses.

“Jon,” she moans. “I really want to continue this but I'm also going to be very annoyed if that bird burns. I didn't put in all that work to impress you only to have it go to waste.”

He chuckles, but he pulls out of her. Dany winces at the loss. He arranges her breasts back into the lacy cups of her bra, his hands lingering over it in appreciation. “I thought the lingerie was to impress me.” 

“Well, I wasn't the one who decided to skip dinner and go straight to business, did I,” she huffs, although her tone is teasing as she gets up, her legs only slightly shaky. 

“So you admit you were trying to seduce me?” Jon smirks, his shyness long forgotten. Before she can reply he disappears to the bathroom to dispose of the condom. 

Dany forgoes the panties altogether, not looking forward to putting them back on after she soaked them through. By the time she makes it to her bedroom, her legs are no longer wobbly, although her cunt is still throbbing. She throws her panties into the hamper and changes into a similar pair. When she comes back to the kitchen, he's waiting for her, jumper back on, mouth-watering cock safely tucked back into his jeans. Somehow, his rumpled hair makes him ten times sexier. The way he is staring at her is enough to make her forego the dress that's still somewhere on the floor. 

Confidently, she walks up to the oven. “For the record, I wasn't trying to seduce you. At least not tonight,” she shrugs. 

“So the lingerie and those thigh high socks?” He raises an eyebrow.

“Had I not stripped you'd have been none the wiser about the lingerie,” she closes the oven, happy that the dinner didn’t burn to a crisp. “As for the socks, I just think they're cute.”

Jon's stormy eyes roam over her from the top of her head, all the way to her heels. He bites his plump lower lip and she has to stifle a moan. “Cute is not how I'd describe them.”

Dany shrugs again as she retrieves the hardened cookie dough from the freezer.

“Dany, the moment you opened the door it took everything in me not to push you against the wall and kiss you senseless. They are _sinful_ , not cute,” he deadpans. 

She can’t contain her laugh. 

“So imagine my surprise when you opened the door, looking like _that_ , after I spent two hours on the phone last night, convincing my little sister that this was most definitely _not_ a date.” Jon leans forward on the kitchen island, resting his chin on his palm, shit-eating grin plastered on his face. 

“ _Technically_ it's still not a date. It's just two friends spending Christmas together.” She rolls the dough on the counter and spreads out the various cookie cutters over it.

“Do you shag all your friends on the couch?”

“Just as you snog senseless under mistletoe all of yours,” Dany winks. 

When she finishes transferring all the cookies to the baking sheet, Jon stalks around the island and pins her between his body and the counter.

“Alright then, since we've decided this is a _non-date_ after all, then I request a proper one.” Why is it so hard to form coherent sentences when he looks at her like that? She thought that finally having sex with him would have diluted some of the magnetic attraction between them. Instead, she feels like she stands no chance of resisting him from now.

“Just say when,” she whispers.

Jon tilts her chin up, then kisses her. “When.”

**Author's Note:**

> I regret nothing. 
> 
> Much love,  
> Alice


End file.
